


Forgotten

by slurp_slapp (flight_to_tarn)



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, M/M, Robbie is Weird and Here's Why, SportaRobbie eventually but it's not the focus of this fic, concurrent to canon, convoluted story structure, short chapters because that's how i roll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-05 01:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flight_to_tarn/pseuds/slurp_slapp
Summary: This is the first time Sportacus has been in the lair, therefore it takes place sometime before Little Sportacus.





	1. Chapter 1

_ The young elf stared, wide-eyed, at the storybook. _

_ “Little one,” his teacher said quietly, kneeling down close to the cross-legged child. “Do you need help with reading? You’ve been looking at that page for a long time.” _

_ “No, I just like this page.” The elfling tapped a finger on the page in question. “There's no words anyhow.” _

_ “So I see.” Teacher chuckled. “Books do seem to be the only thing you sit still for.” He turned to see to his other charges. _

_ His student continued to study the book. The spread in question was so familiar to him that the images therein often wormed their way into his daydreams. However, it was still filled with enough mystery to keep him coming back. _

_ A long, narrow table—purportedly a common human dinner table— spanned the illustration. Displayed atop said table was a variety of food— again, if the previous page was to be trusted, common human food. Some of the items were obvious (some sort of cooked fowl, unusually large and fancy sandwiches) and some were uninteresting (tureens of unrecognizable sludges or stews). But some of them were fanciful and mysterious, and these the young elf stared at over and over again, sure that with careful study he could unravel their composition. _

_ For example: _

 

  * __A vase of artificial flowers, unlike any real ones the elfling had ever seen. They were as large as sunflowers, but with no petals, and looked flat and glossy like dinner plates. Reds and pinks spiraled outwards on their white faces.__


  * _A pitcher of a dark brown liquid. It was transparent like crystal, but punctuated with tiny bubbles like water on the verge of boiling. Contrary to this suggestion, however, the brown had ice floating in it. Ice not in rocky chunks, or sheets or icicles; but as square and regular as if they had been cut from wood._



 

_ At the head of the table, there was a pedestal containing the biggest and most exciting item of human food. It was shaped like an enormous round of cheese, but brightly colored. A portion had been sliced away to reveal its inside. Most of the inside seemed to have a spongy texture that looked to the elfling like golden bread. The bread bits were pasted together with a bright blue substance. The elfling was skeptical that the paste was actually a food item. It looked like the blobs of paint his neighbor squeezed onto his artist’s pallet. But no— the book said bread-round was meant to be eaten, so it couldn't be paint. Maybe it was blue butter? No, not even a human could eat that much butter! Snow? It could be snow. The substance spread thickly on top and at the sides of the bread-round much like snow drifts, so the elfling was willing to believe it. _

_ Satisfied with this conclusion, the student lastly brought his attention to the grotesque, round figure sitting at the head of the table by the bread-round. A human. Humans weren’t so bad, he was told—more...misguided. To be pitied, maybe. But books like this, that dealt with humans, seemed to always have a bitter end—whether it be for the humans themselves or whichever hapless elf had dealings with them. _

_ Despite these vague warnings, the elfling couldn’t help but like the idea of humans. After all, they made such beautiful things, and without magic, at that. He’d rather like to meet some. _

 

* * *

 

“All systems operational.”

Sportacus frowned. “AirShip, check again.”

“This will be the fourth time, Sportacus.”

Sportacus flexed his left hand, absently studying his palm, and clenched the left. “I know.” His AirShip was not alive, nor sentient, but its generated responses could sound downright irate at times. “Check anyway.” He balled his flexed hand into a fist and stretched out the other.

The ship’s instruments had all been responding correctly to his touch, but Sportacus was still concerned. If his equipment wasn't perfectly reliable, it might interfere with his daily routines— or worse, a rescue. And while nothing seemed broken, something unusual had definitely happened. 

“Check compete. All systems operational.”

Sportacus paced a lap of his ship, then stopped to open its core. With the proverbial heart of AirShip in front of him, Sportacus smiled. As much as the ship was designed to look like human technology, the naturalistic egg shape of its core was a reminder that it was, in fact, elf-made. 

Sportacus spread his palm over the hole in the egg’s yolk. Although AirShip was normally perfectly capable of scanning itself, it was possible that if its magic wasn't in order, this ability might not work properly. With his hand on its nucleus, Sportacus could be sure to catch any problems himself. Much like wearing his crystal on his chest allowed him to sense whether any of the people in Lazytown were in danger, here he could sense if any of AirShip’s interwoven spells were broken.

He furrowed his brow. Nothing wrong that he could sense. He dropped to the floor and did a set of pushups, then hopped to his feet and communed with AirShip’s systems again. Still nothing.

After the fourth set of push-ups and fourth check, Sportacus could be sure— there was nothing wrong.

No, there was nothing wrong. Only a mystery of the highest degree.

The previous day, Robbie had managed to take control of the AirShip. Yes, it was a poorly-planned part of one of the villain's schemes. No, Robbie wasn't able to do much of anything. Most of the action, was, in fact, AirShip reacting to Robbie, but that was besides the point. None of the action should have happened at all. Although it did a very good job of masquerading as advanced human technology, AirShip was not, and abided by certain rules. A human a hundred times more clever than Pixel couldn’t have persuaded its door to move an inch. It would only respond when it sensed elfen magic—ergo, one had to be an elf to affect it. Yet AirShip had automatically retracted its lower hatch at Robbie’s touch. Robbie had even managed to change the craft’s pitch! The elevator wheel should have been effectively locked to any townspeople’s hands.

Sportacus had been so surprised at the situation that his rescue turned out more brusque than was ideal. By the time he had regained control of his ship, Robbie was long gone. The hero cursed himself for not having been more patient— he knew Robbie was terrified of heights! And now the villain was probably still recovering in his lair.

Sportacus sighed. He could only hope that nothing would go wrong with AirShip before he could talk to Robbie. If talking to Robbie even clarified the matter. If Robbie even knew what had happened!

The question was plain. No human should have been able to affect the AirShip’s controls. Not at all. So why could Robbie?


	2. Chapter 2

_ The elfling was expecting to be overwhelmed with work and training in Hero school, but he was blindsided by the culture shock. Although the school was also a strictly elfen community, the difference between his home village and the campus was startling.  _

_ However difficult it was getting used to campus culture, it was still but one struggle of many. It was an incredible privilege to be invited to study Heroics. Few people from his village had ever been granted such an opportunity; far fewer achieved hero status. His uncle, the only local attendee in recent memory, had gotten far enough to be awarded a Hero’s Title, but failed to secure any appointments. Despite this, he had always seemed content with his lot in life, at least to his nephew. _

_ “Ah, it's been too long since I used this,” Íþróttaálfurinn said, as he struggled with his balloon’s rigging. “Don't go out adventuring as often as I used to.” He detached a sandbag and threw it into the basket. “But I'm sure your adventures will easily outdo mine. We’re all so proud of you, you know.”  _

_ “Thanks! I...uh...can I help with something?” The younger elf had expected to leave by now and was anxious. _

_ The balloon ride over shores and sea was long, and tested the Hero hopeful’s patience, but was still a trifle compared to the sheer amount of work he had already done. As soon as he was out of nursery school, all of his free time was spent practicing whatever he thought a Hero would be able to do. As he neared his tenth year, he began actively investigating what it took to be invited to study Heroics. _

_ It turned out that every Hero was as different as each pebble on the beach. It wasn’t the feats accomplished that defined a Hero, but rather how any given Hero used their own abilities. He found that every definition he discovered was different, and even the school itself was vague on the qualifications. _

_ He did have one thing to work with, however. The school’s baseline for judging aspirants consisted of two practical observation sessions and an interview with a member of the Hero school’s faculty. The two observations were on Magic—which the young elf struggled with; and “Physical Feats and Talents”—which he excelled at. Depending on the skills displayed (up to the applicant’s choice), there could, of course, be some overlap. _

_ The interview, to the young elf, seemed to be some form of torture. Even if he was good at talking about himself—or talking to adults in general—that wouldn’t have changed the fact that the questions were so boring. Or the fact that his magic was weak. _

_ “Whom would you most like to work with as a Hero, and why?” The professor’s bespectacled face shimmered and rippled on the surface of the water. The elfling had to maintain one half of a viewing spell in order to participate in the interview, and the viewing required a body of water. Depending on the user’s circumstance and magic skills, this could be a specifically-made basin, or even a natural body of water. But this interviewee could just manage a shallow ceramic serving dish. _

_ “Humans,” he blurted out. _

_ The interviewer slid their hand to their temple. “And why is that?” _

_ “I have liked humans ever since I can remember,” —he cringed internally at what he was about to say—  “so of course I want to help them. Everyone seems to think that humans are a waste of time. They are unpredictable, they make the same mistakes over and over again. They change their minds but not their ways. They die too soon.” His voice faltered. “Everyone thinks humans are stupid. They act like humans are pet mice or rats or something. I...don't know enough about them to say how, but I think humans are better than most of us think. And I think I  _ **_can_ ** _ help them.” _

_ The interviewer seemed as uninterested with this answer as they had been with any other of the candidate's responses. After they bid farewell, the elfling had to sit alone for a moment to calm down. He prayed that the interviewer hadn't noticed how tenuously he was maintaining his end of the viewing spell. _

_ Still, no more than a week later a letter blew in on a southwesterly wind—he had been accepted to Hero school! And after a  month of anxious packing, a few scores of goodbyes, and one long balloon ride, the Hero hopeful arrived at his home for the next seven years. _

 

* * *

 

It was nearly a week after the AirShip incident when Sportacus next saw Robbie aboveground. The elf was teaching the kids how to throw a shot put ball when he noticed the villain slip into the hammock on the far side of the park wall. Sportacus left the children with half kilo practice shots, took the regulation-weight one with him so Ziggy couldn’t get in trouble again, and put Stephanie in charge before jogging over.

If he could help it, Sportacus didn’t like to wake up Robbie, so he waited a few feet away to see whether the villain’s new resting place had allowed him to sleep.

“What are you doing, Sportaflop?” the villain muttered without opening his eyes.

“Hi, Robbie. I was just checking on you. Are you feeling all right?”

“Except for the rope burn around my waist? I’m okay.”

“Ah, yes. Well,” —the hero shifted his weight uneasily— “I am sorry about that.”

Robbie wiggled his jaw a little but stayed silent.

“I was impressed how you piloted the AirShip.”

Robbie opened his eyes and glared at Sportacus.

“I’m serious. What you did required...a certain skill,” he tried.

Robbie crossed his arms. “Are you making fun of me?”

The hero’s eyebrows shot up and he raised his hands pleadingly. “No, Robbie! Please don’t think that. Even though it could have been bad, you really got the ship moving. I had quite the time getting it back on course.” The villain’s eyes softened so he continued. “I shouldn't have been so surprised, you are such a whiz with mechanics.”

The villain sat up and grabbed Sportacus’s arm, dragging him down to the hammock as he got to his feet. “I appreciate the flattery, Sporta...buddy, but that fancy balloon of yours did everything by itself! All I did was stomp around” — he clomped his feet against the grass — “spin some wheels” — he windmilled his arms — “and the balloon did the rest.” He let out a small pant. “But tell me how great I am again.”

Sportacus laughed. “You’re great, Robbie. I'll tell you a secret...Mayor Meanswell? I had him help me in the AirShip the other day, and he couldn't do  _ anything _ .”

“Did you  _ expect  _ him to be able to?” Robbie asked. 

“Well...he does fly a plane sometimes. Some concepts are the same, but…” Sportacus paused. “That's besides the point. You did more, and, if you want to learn even more, I could show you how I fly AirShip sometime.”

“As long as you land it first.”

“Of course.”


	3. Chapter 3

_ The first difference the Hero trainee noticed was in how everything looked. Compared to the stone hovels of his home village, the aesthetics of the Hero school complex were blinding. Everything was white or a frosty metallic, and smooth as a river rock, shaped by billions of spells woven by craftspeople. The elfling’s dusty blue clothing, hand-woven and dyed with basketfuls of tiny flower petals, were shapeless rags compared to the bright, tailored robes worn by the students milling around.  _

_ Everything was so loud, too. He had never seen so many young elves together before, and together their energy was overwhelming. He enjoyed listening to them talk, but it took him several weeks to actually join a conversation. _

_ “So I had another human observation today,” a willowy student with silver braids said to the cluster of students sharing the shade of a wide-canopied maple tree. _

_ “Humans?” the new student asked, before thinking. “When do you get to start those?” _

_ “Usually in year two or three,” silver braids replied. The newcomer’s face fell. “But don’t get too excited, Blue. It kind of sucks.” A few of the other students nodded and grunted in agreement. _

_ “Yeah!” chirped a bald-headed boy wearing lime green. “They’re so gross. They have to wash themselves and their clothes and everything ALL THE TIME or they start to smell. Everything about them smells so  _ strong _ ” —he started to count on his fingers— “them, their clothes, their homes, the potions they put on themselves, their food, everything. I don’t know how they live at all. If I had to use their things and eat their food, I think my ears would fall off!” _

_ “Wow, you and your human damage, Char,” a third student replied. _

_ “Doing all the observations are annoying, but you shouldn’t talk like that.” _

_ “But it’s true! Human stuff is really bad for you, my  _ _ Sílà said.” _

_ “Pretty sure it’s not bad enough to make your ears fall off.” _

_ “Then ask a professor sometime!” _

_ “I’m not going to do that.” _

_ “‘Coz you’re afraid of being wrong.” _

_ “Noooo…” _

_ Blue quietly stood up and removed himself from the group, slinking away while they were embroiled in their argument. He tried not to take to heart what the bald boy had said, but he couldn’t help feeling a little numb. He tried not to take to heart what the bald boy had said. In any case, it seemed like he wouldn’t be able to rely on his fellow students for unbiased information about humans. And it would probably be best to keep his interest in them to himself. _

 

* * *

 

Sportacus was called to fulfill his promise early. Robbie had taken him up on the AirShip lesson the day after their conversation—a shockingly fast turnaround for the laziest person in town. Surprised to receive a response (in the form of a letter covered in crumbs, launched in a discarded potato chip tube) from Robbie so soon, Sportacus didn’t quite think about the implications of his actions until he had landed AirShip in Lazytown Grove. The elf passed the time by practicing handstands on the gangway.

This couldn’t go  _ that _ wrong, could it? Worst case scenario—Robbie could control the AirShip, and Sportacus had to arrange for some different protections to prevent the villain from using it during a scheme. In the best case, Robbie couldn’t control AirShip, Sportacus didn't have to worry about him messing with it—but wait, the Hero would still have to figure out what caused it to malfunction before. And Robbie might feel hurt that he didn't possess the skill. Maybe  _ that  _ was the worst-case scenario. 

But let's cross that valley when we come to it, thought Sportacus as he adjusted his hands under him. This experiment could still bring clarity. 

He was on his fourth set of inverted leg drops when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. Robbie, of course. He was fashionably late and, as per usual, unexpectedly stealthy for a normally-clumsy person.

“Robbie!” Sportacus exclaimed and rolled out of his handstand before he even finished the set. 

“Yes, that's me.”

“Are you ready to learn?”

“Whatever.”

Sportacus led the villain into the airship, explaining that some of its operations were voice-activated, attuned only to his own. “For example, you could shout at the side door forever and it would never open.”

“Door! Door. Door?” Robbie interrupted, trying to imitate the elf. 

“Don't bother!” Sportacus grinned. “I want to start you in the cockpit.”

“The cockpit.”

“Yes, it's actually one of the easier controls. The elevator wheel is much more difficult to master. Here you can see the landscape clearly for visual feedback—operating the elevators is more based on feeling. Have a seat.”

Robbie carefully lowered himself into the cockpit. The hero explained that here, the pilot changed the position of the rudders. Lightly, the villain curled his fingers around the steering wheel.

“Go ahead, turn it.”

Robbie immediately jerked the wheel to the far left side. “Like this?” To the right. And repeat.

Sportacus bit his lip. Yes, Robbie could turn the wheel, and yes, the rudders were moving—his elf ears could hear their distinctive dull thunk coming from AirShip’s aft.

“Uh— yes, but more gently. That's better.”

“This is easy! So, that’s it here?”

“Well,” —Sportacus gestured towards Robbie’s feet— “you need to pedal if you want to go anywhere.”

Robbie stared at his feet.

“Can’t you move them?”

“Do you think I  _ want  _ to?” the villain replied. “Did you have me come here to trick me into exercising? Doesn’t this thing have any rockets on it or anything?”

Sportacus shook his head with a sigh. So, that was that. Somehow AirShip wanted to work for Robbie, who was not an elf. And nothing was  _ wrong  _ with it, according to his own tests and the experiment with the mayor. The hero knew himself well enough to realize he wouldn’t be able to let this mystery go.

“Hello?” Robbie was saying, waving his hands in the air. “Hello, Sportakook? So how do you  _ not  _ get scared when you're doing this half a mile up?”


	4. Chapter 4

_ Magic lessons, he thought. _

_ As he walked back to his dormitory, the young elf kept rechecking at his schedule, like it would change at any moment. He absently rubbed the corner of the paper between his fingers. It had a veined texture, like a leaf. In fact, the paper had originally been a leaf before it was transfigured into paper and enchanted to be impossible for its owner to lose, as his advisor had told him. Now it was a rounded rectangular piece of paper about twice the width of his palm. _

_ Magic lessons, he thought again. _

_ His advisor had explained how it worked. As a new student, he could take as much time as he wanted to get used to living at the school. When he was ready, he could start to go to the class sessions outlined on his schedule. He was encouraged to wait at least a week before going to class, even if he felt ready. _

_ He had been itchy to start, at first. But the longer he stared at the session labeled “Magic”, which occurred six days a week, the more worried he got. _

_ The school knew he was deficient in magic. He needed to get better at magic right away, which had to be why he was so frequently in the class. What would happen if his magic didn’t improve? _

_ His mind was so flooded with these thoughts that he barely thought about the (less frequent) classes that were more his style (Aerobic Gymnastics, Sport) and that which he knew little about (Meditation). It also took him two tries to find his room in the tree that contained his dormitory, as in his haze he accidentally climbed too high the first time. _

This is ridiculous _ , he thought, as he pressed his hand into one of the branches that formed the outer wall of his abode.  _ I came here to learn, and now I’m afraid to try? _ The branch peeled back to allow him to enter, and he took a sloppy dive directly into his bed.  _ Tomorrow I will start classes, no matter what.

 

_ Was this the wrong place? The first person the new student noticed in the room purported to be his magic class happened to be doing a handstand against the wall. There was also a pale boy pacing back and forth with a book, mumbling quietly to himself; and an older elf with a wispy black mane in a white filigree wheeled chair, speaking to a girl wearing a mushroom-shaped hat. _

_ The seated elf, noticing the newcomer, raised a finger and pardoned herself from her conversation. _

_ “I’m not sure I’m in the right room,” the newcomer admitted. _

_ “Are you the one from the far north?” the seated elf asked. “My new student? I thought you might be showing up soon.” _

_ “Yes...I guess. Is this my magic lessons?” _

_ “I hope it’s not magic  _ **_lessons_ ** _.” The teacher chuckled. “But you will be exploring magic here.” _

_ She pardoned herself and spoke to her waiting conversation partner, who receded into a corner. Her chair, propelled by four hubless, golden wheels, brought her back towards the new student. _

_ “Now, I can speak properly to you. I will be your guide in magic, until we decide you are done with me.” She smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. _

_ “I’m not very good,” the young elf said. “At magic. Actually, I’m pretty bad.” _

_ “I’m not concerned. We all have our challenges, and there are always multiple ways of addressing them. What I would like to know, is what you  _ **_do_ ** _ think you’re good at.” _

_ “Well...I’m pretty strong, and fast. I’d rather do handstands with them over there.” _

_ “Physicality is your forte? Then let’s find something that complements that. Have you ever learned any magical healing?” _

_ “Healing? I don’t think I’m good enough to do that.” _

_ “I’ll have to prove you wrong. We’ll start with physical healing, which I bet will be a good start for you; not to mention that it will probably come in handy. Then we can try more abstract forms and see where we go from there. But I don’t want us to get ahead of ourselves. Before healing, however, comes sensing. Since you’re familiar with your body, I want you to go over there, where the mats are, and do whatever it is you usually do to warm up. Then we’ll begin…” _

 

* * *

 

Sportacus’s collection of books on magic were useless. He was so afraid of drawing Robbie’s attention to the oddity of the situation—and making Robbie feel self-conscious—that he first scanned all his literature trying to figure out why AirShip would operate for the villain. Alas, just as his experiments had turned up nothing, his book collection provided no answers. He had to talk to Robbie again.

“Hi Robbie!” he called, trying to retain his usual chipperness. The villain was walking back from the shops—plastic grocery bags slung over each arm, clutching a fast food bag in one hand, and precariously balancing a stack of bakery boxes on top. 

“I swear, if you make me drop anything, Sportaloon…”

“I was going to ask if you needed any help.”

“No! But” —the villain sighed— “I guess I'll take it.” 

Robbie passed off most of the load and continued his walk back home. Sportacus followed, and pondered how he was going to broach the subject. Should he just ask if Robbie had elf blood? Or knew some obscure magic? Thankfully, the villain was ignoring him, as he was working on eating a cheeseburger he'd just purchased. While thinking, Sportacus subconsciously picked up his walking pace and didn't realize it until Robbie called out from behind him. 

“Sportageek, where are you going?”

“Your lair,” the hero said hesitantly, gesturing with his chin to the billboard in the distance. He'd seen the villain enter and exit a passageway there. 

“Nuh-uh-uh. Like this.”

Sportacus power walked back towards Robbie, craning his neck around the boxes to try and see what was happening.

Robbie gulped down the last bite of his burger, tucked the fast food bag under his arm, and clapped twice. A lever sprung out of the ground. One of his contraptions?

“Stand here,” the villain said. He was gesturing to a manhole cover in the middle of the street. Was that always there?

Sportacus stepped over. “Robbie, what is th—”

Before he could finish the question, Robbie had pulled the lever. The hero’s footing was snatched from under him and he became instantly disoriented, his surroundings becoming a smear of deep blues and turquoise, then...he was standing in Robbie's lair. 

A split-second later the villain hit the floor next to him and was climbing to his feet, dusting off his clothes. “I should have guessed you'd land on your feet,” he grumbled under his breath. “With all that flippity flipping practice...I always drop my boxes…”

Sportacus took in the lair around him. It was dimly lit and he couldn't see much on account of his eyes adjusting. But the cavernous room they were in was thrumming with some sort of peculiar energy, as if they were in the belly of some great creature.

“You can put the boxes on there, and the bags here…” The villain puttered around, putting his purchases in various cluttered cupboards and cabinets. “Now if you don't mind, I have an important date with an enormous piece of cake.” He opened the top box to extract a tiny red velvet cupcake, which he placed inside his...microwave?...and pressed a button.

“Robbie, how did you get us here like that?”

“A villain never reveals his secrets.” With a flourish and a puff of smoke, Robbie opened the door of his appliance to reveal...a triple-layered crimson cake piled high with white frosting.

“Muh. Magic,” Sportacus stammered. 

“Try not to be too impressed.”

“This appliance...is enchanted…” The hero rested his hand on its handle, and quickly withdrew it. He felt it— a web of spells attached to the machine, like those attached to AirShip, or his crystal. But the spells here were  _ messy _ , and much, much stronger. “Robbie, you can use magic!”

“Of course I can.”

“Are you...also one of the Hidden Folk?”

“Come again?”

“The Huldufólk? A hulduma _ ð _ ur?”

Robbie stared blankly at Sportacus. No need to be polite, then.

“Robbie, are you an elf? Or do you have a bit of elf blood? Fae? Troll? Are you... _ undead _ ?”

“What?” the villain said, recoiling. “No! I'm just an incredibly handsome....genius.”

“But humans don't use magic!”

“That's not true! Bessie and the mayor do this all the time...except they put in a lot more ingredients…”

“Robbie, that's called  _ baking _ .”

“So? Magic!”

Sportacus paced over to Robbie's orange chair, sat down, and rested his face in his hands. It was true that the difference between technology and magic could be confusing, but this was something else entirely.

He took a deep breath and withdrew his hands. “Robbie,” he said quietly. “I'm sorry for shouting. Can you show me the way out, please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time Sportacus has been in the lair, therefore it takes place sometime before Little Sportacus.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're confused, that's okay. This one is going to unfold over the chapters.
> 
> The title of this sounds more depressing than it will actually get. I don’t want to rip out your heart, just tug at its strings a little.
> 
> The incident with Robbie and the AirShip is what happened in Dr. Rottenstein (S1E11).


End file.
